us and waved us through.
Inside, the chambers were as I remembered them: colourful frescoes of Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent, depicting His descent into the underworld, the founding of His city of Tollan, and His departure onto the Eastern Sea on a raft of snakes – everything obscured by the potent haze of copal incense mixed with herbs and spices, a mixture that always made my head spin. I suspected Nezahual-tzin used it for entering divine trances, and wouldn't have been surprised to learn it had
The low-backed chair – Nezahual-tzin's throne – was empty, the jaguar pelts on the dais meticulously cleaned by the slaves, who scattered away from us as we went deeper into the room.
Nezahual-tzin's breath had quickened; around him, something glimmered – the shadow of a great snake, slowly unfolding through my and Ezamahual's body, maw wide open, the feathers of its collar slowly gaining substance as we got nearer to the throne. The air was as thick as tar – tense, not with human intrigue, but with the growing presence of a god in the Fifth World.
Nezahual-tzin had gone completely limp, his eyes closed, lolling in our grip, much heavier than I'd thought possible. The snake came streaming out of his mouth, rearing its head through Nezahual-tzin's boyish face – the scales mingling with the skin, the feathers becoming the feather headdress at his nape, yet somehow larger and more defined. The only sound we could hear was Nezahual-tzin's quickening breath – far too fast for anything mortal.
The god Quetzalcoatl was trying to help his agent somehow; the one thing I did know was that we couldn't afford to be there when it happened. The Feathered Serpent might be the most compassionate of all the gods, but he was still a god – disinclined to take mortal frailty into account, especially when in a rush to dispel another god's interference.
I gestured for Ezamahual to hurry – we crossed the last few steps to the dais in what seemed an eternity, and dropped more than deposited Nezahual-tzin in his chair. Then we withdrew as fast as possible.
For a few moments, it seemed as though nothing would happen. The snake continued to solidify, somewhat haphazardly – lidless eyes taking the place of Nezahual-tzin's grey ones; fangs appearing within the maw, as white as pearls fished from the depths. And then it reared up – not leaving the confines of Nezahual-tzin's body as I'd thought it would, but instead jerking the body upwards like a children's doll – there was a distinct crunch made by bones cracking, and Nezahual-tzin's head bent backwards at an angle that should have been impossible to maintain for a live human being. His eyes opened – and they were white, opalescent as a distant star, and his mouth was peppered with fangs, glistening with venom, the feathers of his headdress flaring outwards like a flower blossoming. He screamed, arms flailing and then falling down abruptly, released from the pressure that had held them – and then he crumpled like a rag on the dais, the snake fading away to nothingness.
I let out a breath I hadn't even been aware of holding. 'My Lord?'
His breath again, loud, ragged. Gently, slowly, he pulled himself upright, his face paler than usual, but regaining colour with every passing moment until it was once more the dark of cacao beans. His eyes narrowed, the vulnerability gone in a moment, dispelled by a supreme effort of will. 'Acatl. I see.'
I didn't think he did. Ezamahual and I had both witnessed his weakness, and no amount of pretence would remove that fact. 'Can you tell us what happened?'
Nezahual-tzin grimaced. 'Not in so many words, no.'
'You were in trance in front of a fountain,' I pointed out. I glanced at Ezamahual; he had thrown himself facedown on the ground. Oh, gods, I should have remembered – Ezamahual was peasant through and through, and he'd walked with enough reticence through the palace. 'Ezamahual, get up,' I said.
'He's Revered Speaker…'
'And you're a priest of the Mexica. You don't answer to him.'
'Not quite, but as a ruler of the Triple Alliance, I do appreciate the respect,' Nezahual-tzin said. I threw him a warning glance strong enough to sear the feathers of his headdress, and he smiled back at me. 'But Acatl is right. We can't possibly have any kind of conversation with you lying flat on the floor. Also, you did carry me from the fountain.' He paused on 'fountain', looking at me again, expecting further explanation.
I shrugged. 'I don't have much to add. I met you earlier in the palace and you wanted to track down the user of Toci's magic.'
'I remember that.' Nezahual-tzin's voice was considered. 'Not senile yet, you know. Quite the reverse, in fact.'
As befitted a devotee of the Feathered Serpent, god of Wisdom and Knowledge. I doubted he'd ever have many memory problems. But, if another goddess had interfered…
'You lost two warriors,' I said. 'I suspect they were sacrificed to put the spell on you.'
'I see.' He raised his hands, looked at them in the light. His face had gone hard. 'And what are you doing in the palace?'
'Looking for Xiloxoch,' I said, as bluntly as he'd asked. 'And for Teomitl.'
'You'll have gathered there are better places to be, in the current context.'
I would have pointed out that he'd stayed within – but of course he was Quetzalcoatl's agent, and probably immune to the plague altogether. 'My sister told me Xiloxoch would be in the palace, but I couldn't find her.'
'I'm not surprised.' Nezahual-tzin's voice was curt. 'I can enquire after her.'
I shook my head. I'd already stumbled up the stairs of Tizoc-tzin's private chambers with the Revered Speaker of Texcoco – a man I'd been accused of collusion with a few months before. The last thing I needed in this time of paranoia was more fuel for that particular accusation to surface again.
Though it might be too late for that. 'Don't bother,' I said. 'We'll find her ourselves, if she's in the palace.'
Nezahual-tzin frowned. 'I dislike unpaid debts.'
Which might or might not be true; I didn't know him well enough to say. He probably had an interest in investigating all of this, though I couldn't why – and we wouldn't find out until it suited him to reveal his intentions. 'Well,' I said – half-suspecting I would end up regretting this, 'you can look for Teomitl.'
Nezahual-tzin's grimace was almost comical – but then what he was saying sank in. 'I can't involve myself with this.'
'Why not?'
His gaze was level. 'You know why, Acatl. I gave fair hints, but I can't do more. Tizoc-tzin is Revered Speaker of the Mexica, my peer in the Triple Alliance. What I think of him – doesn't play a part.'
'You're not saying–'
